Raising Emma
by Younger Dr. Grey
Summary: AU. Just as her labor begins, Snow goes through the wardrobe. She pops out of a tree screaming, crying, and with no one to help her but the seven-year-old Pinocchio. She's safe. Her baby's safe. She just has to make it through twenty-eight years. In this new strange world. Basically alone. [Eventually touches on almost every ship, end game yet to be decided.]


**notes:** I came up with this idea over a year ago, and I've reached the point where I just need to publish it. This is a bit of an experiment, following the lives of Snow, August, and Emma up to and including when the curse breaks. It has a bit of everything - Snowing, Wooden Swan, SwanFire, Swan Queen once it gets that far - but it's not so much about the ships as the way the characters grow and change. Not every chapter will be a letter. Thanks for clicking and I hope you'll go on this AU journey with me.

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David,

I swear if you ever get to read this, remind me to throttle Gepetto. And Blue. "This wardrobe, it can only take one." Does everyone from our land spout lies as easily as they do their names? It is as if everyone is out to destroy our daughter's future — _their_ futures as well since only Emma can protect them!

Oh, what am I doing? I'm going on without even wondering if you know who you are or what you are. Do you know who I am? I could not imagine you without me. I'm your wife, your rightful wife, Snow White.

Your name is David. You were originally a shepherd before King George needed you to slay a dragon so that he may gain gold from King Midas. Slaying the dragon made you the perfect suitor for Midas's daughter, Abigail, who you were taking in your carriage when you met me. I robbed you of your jewels, including a ring that now rests on my finger. You chased me down, and I gave you the scar on your chin. I also gave you my heart, later my hand, and I so hoped to give you my child, but my stepmother had other plans.

When she cursed our land, I was giving birth to our daughter. Doc yelled that I couldn't be moved, but you said, "I have to try." You got me to my feet and rushed, half carrying me, half dragging me to the wardrobe. Before I knew it, you lowered me inside of it. You pulled away from me, urged me, "Let go, Snow. The curse is coming. Let go." You kissed my forehead, then my stomach, and then my lips. You whispered, "Tell her about me, about us and our land. Never forget." I promised you I wouldn't.

I will hold that promise, David. I swear on all the happy endings and magic and every kiss that has ever come from true love that Emma will break the Queen's curse.

There is but one other thing. When I pushed open the wardrobe, in the new land, I wasn't alone. Pinocchio was there. He apologized the moment he saw me.

"Papa said to help Emma," he told me.

I told him, "I'm here. I'll help her." He looked worried for a moment.

"What does that mean for me?" he asked.

"I'll take care of you too. If you help me from the tree." I felt a contraction coming on and waved him to my side. "Quickly. Quic—ahhhh."

He rushed to me then, helped me up. Together, we wandered from the tree, stumbling towards light. I couldn't get far before the pain was too much. He helped me bring her into this world.

Our daughter, a princess, was born on the side of the road. I couldn't even properly wrap her in her blanket because we had nothing to cut the cord. A woman in a strange carriage came by eventually and called an ambulance (another type of carriage, almost like the ones we use for prisoners but it's for healing). The woman asked for our names.

I said Mary Margaret, like when I first met Red. Pinocchio said he was named August. For the first time, I introduced Emma.

I am at their hospital now. Their quills are odd. Everything here is. Their lighting comes not from fire or fairies. They speak differently, dress so oddly. I overheard them talking after I asked for something to write with. They said something was the matter with me, not physically, but in my mind. Said, I had no clue how to pay and they would not keep us long. I shall think on it in the morning, but for now, I am alive, as if Emma and Pinocchio. That is enough.

Only twenty-eight years to go, forever yours,

Snow.


End file.
